Immovable

 

I stopped moving

That pile in the corner
crepitus
became locked

base of oversensitive and
siding of overreacting
ten penny nails of
insecure
hoisting the whole thing
just shy of collapse

because that where the real fun is

the disaster

splinter and crack
that’s where you can ooze in
squeeze between every
fiber
so the rust can set in

looks bright and copper
at first
gleaming

when the very sacs of
air that brought back life
are twisting the oxygen
to bring ruin

The next morning
I put my shoulder to the works
and get pushed away
no headway
with the machine
must be because
I’m so fragile
levers frozen
joints clawed
into each other

immovable

A wonder
why I can’t move

on

 

If you would like to read more of my dark yarns, my new poetry collection The Gone Side of Leaving and my debut novel Drowning Above Water are now out on their own in the world.

The Gone Side of Leaving

Drowning Above Water

Hides

Hides, it does

Tucked in forgotten drawers

Cozy under the bed, warmed by dust and lint

Sometimes I wipe it clean and hold it in my hands

The hurt

Nostalgic remembering

When we were thick friends

On the pillow together

Faded Polaroid

From a mistaken photographer

The image was meant to mollify

It murdered

I dig up

Bones and flesh

Surprised by its

Incorruptible

Resilient

Buried

But

Not dead

But there is wine

For the cemetery picnic

And cake

To feed

The happy living

When they learn

So I plant it back

Among the webs

And smile

Knowing I’m now the keeper

Of the hidden rest

 

My words are meant for hidden reading. My poetry collection The Gone Side of Leaving and my debut novel Drowning Above Water are now available.

The Gone Side of Leaving

Drowning Above Water

Wishbone

There wasn’t a wishbone

Nothing to fight
Nothing to break
Nothing to lose

I didn’t think to notice

Everything I wanted was ahead of me
on the stairs

Only took climbing up
after falling down
to see

I’m afraid to look back

The sun is mauve and orange
and warm colors of gratitude

I don’t want to remember
the white and black
of loss

When today is so good
and things

not known                                                                                                                                                       not trusted                                                                                                                                                           not wished

are true

Kill That Fucking Clock

Just get through one day

Day One

Minute by minute

By one minute

Clock says it has been

Two minutes

Fill the space

Alone

Like forcing liquid insulation

Between the support beams

And the skeleton

My ribcage

Good bones

Waiting for the foam

To harden

Empty rafters

Leave space for

Air and rope

How can it only be two minutes?

I’ve gone through the entire script

Of Gone with the Wind

In my mind

Me playing Scarlett

My anxiety answering with

Rhett Butler

Scoundrel

Lazing like that clock

Always late

Making me pay for my

Ego and desertions

Stoic in my flirting

For an easiness

In minutes

I can’t find

Great balls of fire

How has it only been two minutes

And not another day

Another day

Another way

Not one by

One and then

One by Another

And then My Other

I can’t do it alone

Unless these next two minutes

go faster

than the last

Kill that fucking clock

It doesn’t understand

My new poetry collection The Gone Side of Leaving is now available at Amazon. 

The Gone Side of Leaving

His Trains

Two bedrooms.
Three babies.
Where does he sleep?

You have your dreams
wrapped and tied
with felled timber
and he’s left
to be your alarm clock.

To be the stark reality,
the cold winter floor,
the frosted window
in your cottage escape.

What you wanted,
then left,
now he’s left
to sure up
the beams
while you build
to the sky.

His trains
carry
your blueprints,
and the sledgehammer
that knocks down
his insulation;
transport an awkward visitor
to your family gathering.

I watch
and
I wave.
I hope he
survives the trip
and wishing on rails,

I dread
his crash.

In This Wreck

In this wreck

This mess of

Conflict

And collision

And

Trying to put two trains

Back

Together

From different tracks

Freight and passenger

Local and express

Arriving and departing

From this entangled heap

Of melting collapse

We had a ticket

Itinerary

Baggage

Climbed onboard

And stayed onboard

Together

When the

Course veered

From our plan

Secure in our seats

Until the crash

And now

We’re in the middle of nowhere

Fields

When we wanted cities

Seclusion

When we planned

For distraction

Now

Pull away

Call for help

Rebuild from the ground

If the injuries aren’t

Enough to stop us

From leaving the scene

crumple up our tickets/maps

To stop the bleeding

Hide in suitcases

Among the clothes

We chose

Special

To show

To make a memory

Of a tie with a pin

And a dress

With a rip

But those memories

Don’t always keep us warm

We wait

Prying ourselves out

Pushing off beams and

Coughing on dust

Not strong enough

To step away from

The wreck

Not ready

To walk home

Tear It Off

Tear it off

take the skin

Dig out the infection

Hiding in the pockets

It seeps

For protection

Let it ooze

Out to air

Dry, form your scab

Leave off the ointment

that only collaborates

to drench and drown

Your own protection

down in your guts.

Willing defection.

Can’t run yet.

Soon.

The break will hold your weight.

The clot will staunch the flow.

The healing will come.

Tear it off.